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Fanon:Farms, Charms, and Firearms
is another work of fiction written by GreyFlame 05 that follows the three survivors of the and their escaping of the new invading Peretan forces. Please comment if you enjoyed the story. Part 1 This isn't a story about heroes, well, not anymore. Five months ago, as we all know, me and my sobstory group of soldiers were practically torn apart by a bunch of Peretan forces, as weak and sad as it sounds, they were ready for us. More than a couple men died that day, but this story ain't about them, no, it ain't about Xavior, Carl, or Gus... none of them. They're gone now, but we're still here, the five that survived to tell the tale. But we're still not living the good life either. Grey, our commanding officer at the time, dissapeared in the snow after the story, but he's long gone by now. Jaller, oh, he's living it well, got a wife and two kids with another on the way, seemed as if he had a little too many cookies that night. Xavior brother Tyler was in our crew too, suffered a couple of broken bones, but he was healed before he knew it, don't know where he is now. The three of us, me, John, and Trent are all huddling together at the ol' farm, gathering clumps of food until our hearts give out. Commander sent us on our way with our paychecks, and there we were, left on our ceesters in Winter. But we're still moving, and that's what matters. It's sunday today, March 20, 2018 in the overworld. My body lays, comfortably flush against the back of my signature chair, overlooking the farm through the window, pouring light upon my war-worn body. Glancing up towards the left facing wall, complemented by the door, which was being fluttered with light knocks. Trent, again. Why doesn't he leave me alone? Trent's obnoxious voice requests, muffled by the door, " Oh... hey yo, open the door, breakfast is hot and ready, just like m-" " Fine. My god, Trent, gimme some space for once." I reply, annoyed. " Maybe I'd give you some space if you gave me the money you borrow back." Trent remarks snarkily. I throw myself off of my sofa, flinging my practically lifeless body towards the door before opening it, being greeted by that oh-so-stubborn figure. " Finally here, mister musket-recoil?" Trent, again, remarks. " Shut it..." I reply, annoyed, AGAIN. We both head towards the "dining room", which is a glorified living room space that John can't ever bother cleaning. I throw myself ontowards an empty bin, acting as my chair, while awaiting the other two. The four bin chairs line the rim of the run-down table, that while rudimentary carried countless foodfight filled memories. John gently plops himself onto the bin to the right of me, while Trent pulls up the stack of plates, holding the most precious cargo of the month, which is given ''every day of the month, ''three delicious cookies. Yeah, you might think that after 8765 days of living, that these would get pretty boring after a while, and... you'd be right, but we've never had anything else besides these and...apples. Hideous things they are. Anyhow, he places them onto the table, spreading them towards the two of us. " Oh-hey! LOOK! Big surprise, cookies for breakfast, you've really outdone yourself. What are these made of? Apples?" John asks, smirking sarcastically. " Yes." Trent states, glaring directly into John's eyes, instanteously freaking John, and me, out. " ... So- Charlie, Trent, we actually got mail for once that, from what I think, isn't spam! Jesus-these people got the balls to adress themselves as the NTM..." John remarked, pulling out the letter from his pant pocket, reading quietly halfway through the letter before stuttering. " Spam, I assume?" Trent chuckles, laughing to himself as always. " N-no... it's jjust... read it..." John replies, stuttering in shock. Trent skims through the letter, and through every five words or so, he slows down his reading pace, before speaking to me. " Ch-Charlie... the Peretans are coming for us." Part 2 We all stood for several minutes, stunned. The letter read as followed, " Dear residents of 617, we have to inform you that the Peretan forces have punctured through our capital and are heading straight, and as your military friends, we mean it, '''straight '''for your area. I mean it, Trent, buckle down and fight. 'Til the end, we'll be here soon. ''- CEO of the Neuro Titan Military"'' John breaks the silence, heading towards the door to the coverted dining room before beginning to barricade it with a wooden seat. While this process is being completed, Trent and I head to the closet to acquire our weaponry, five magazines, two muskets, and a polearm. No more, no less. " Hey T-Trent, you think this'll do?" I ask, still frightened. " Anything does better than our bear fists, Charlie, man up or we're throwing you in first." Trent replies, trying to lighten the mood by patting my shoulder. We head out back into the dining room, huddled around John before barricading other areas of the house. To save you your an hour of your time, I'll just flash forward to the beginning of the end. An hour later, we're huddled near the door of the dining room, awaiting for the sign of Peretan movement. Trent is staring through a small peekhole of the barricaded door, patient, contradictory to his usual persona. John is armed with a loaded musket, peeking through it's crosshairs into another peekhole left open by the wooden barricade. " Yo-YO! Up on the hilltop, John. They're coming!" Trent roars. Up upon the hilltop laid an army, sixty Peretan men, similarly dressed to that of the last battle, except the dark boots developed for all-terrain. With them a barrage of varying weapons; ranging from muskets to modified Great Axes, sharpened to the very tips. Compared to us, as always, they were godlike. " Wait- wait, hand over an explosive shell, Charlie. I have an idea." John asks, in a not ''sarcastic tone. I reach into the wethered bag of specially designed magazines and single shells, before yanking out the explosive shell and handing it to John, who eagerly replaces his magazine for the single shell. Taking several seconds to aim, he smirks, growling before he fires it into one of the many infantry units. Trent counts as the time runs thin, " 3... 2... 1-" A small explosion abruptly appears in the distance, killing about ten men in the process. Cheers from all of us ring about the house. " BOOM, YOU FILTHY RATS! Give them some led, Charlie." John scowls enthusiastically. Trent pulls away from his peep hole to make room for the muzzle of my musket, as I let John become "my eyes" of sorts. I aim towards the last position of the solder over the hill, waiting for the signal to go. Trent roars proudly, " LET 'EM HAVE IT!" With that, both me and John begin to tear through the crowd, who equally sends fire towards the barn as they skuttle closer and closer. After about 8 or 9 fall, John signals to cease fire and duck to reconsider our options. " Ayy, nice kills, ya dumb son's of b****es." Trent remarks, smirking. " We still need a plan, 'r else we'll be blown to smitherines." John replies, stern in expression. I fathom a plan, formulate an attack strategy before speaking to the two. " 'Kay, well, I say us two fire at them scumbags while Trent blocks the troops with the short sword." I finally say, motioning as I speak. " Alrighty, alrighty, works for me. Let's do this, boys. Trent, head into the hallway with your sword, we'll need ya later." John requests, strangely taking the position as leader. We head back to unleashing fire, but with less force, killing 3 in the time span of what felt like minutes. At this point, the Peretan forces, which are in the 40's now, are less than a block away, causing me to grasp my birth charm in worry. John suddenly sends another cease fire signal, as the forces have apparently stopped dead in their attacks. " John-JOHN! They're in range, head to the hallway, NOW!" I bark, and we immediately collect our firearms from our laps and head to the hallway connecting to my (and their) personal rooms. Meeting with Trent, who was previously pacing to and fro, we quickly explain the situation. " Trent, they're in firing range, crumbling the cornfields, they'll seige us with bolts, I'm sure." I explain, impatient. " Well come on! Gotta move to stay alive, duck behind that their dresser." Trent replies. Me and John cover ourselves behind a dresser on the hallway's right that had been placed there "temporarily" by John but never moved into hisroom, which had already contained clothes strewn about the drawers and was tattered anyhow. Trent stood in place, proudly and bravely staring towards the dining room door, waiting for the bolts to rain down. The sound of screeching glass shakes the house to it's foundations, sending bolts of flaming origin in the home. Two are sent straight through Trent and into the wall behind him, causing him to fall to his knees, and begging for death. My cry for help, while not answered, was sent to a shiver when a third bolt struck him dead-set in the forehead. Trent crumbles to the floor into nothingness. John and I stare in shock at our fallen friend, or to put it in better terms, what was left of him. For 20 seconds, a barrage of crossbow bolts fly across the rooms, but not a single one tears past the dresser. Partial relief strikes me, as well as the cruelty that was Trent's demise. After a few seconds, without a single sharing of words, me and John rush into the closet of his personal room, slamming both the demolished bedroom and closet door behind, armed with the two muskets, waiting for certain death. Three minutes pass in absolute silence, when the silence breaks as the barracade door out back is torn through by a cascading flow of Peretan men. Rushing throughout the barnhouse, the men through themselves into each room, causing a roar of noise in each. Every second passes as we feel less and less secure, our ''last moments are going to be spent in a closet. Foot slamming can be now heard outside our door, and commands are being muttered by some sort of higher up, but from the closet, all we can see is darkness and certain death. John stops a gasp from escaping his lips as the closet slams open, crushing the door under its own weight and snapping it from it's hinges. Five soldiers armed to the death hold their repeating crossbows point-blank at each of our heads, demanding for cooperation. " Oh, hey-guess who we found! Hohoho... capt'n will love this." A soldier remarks, arrogantly kicking John to get up. " Which one goes first, tubby white trash or snotty white trash?" Another soldier replies. " Ah, yeah yeah, you know that THIS piece of white trash kicked the s*** out of your friends?" John laughs, tugging my shirt as we both smile. " Yep, snotty one goes first, case closed." A soldier confirms, aiming for a quick shot to the head. A blast of shrapnel flings out of the window to our right, sending some soldiers into a bleeding and shrieking mess, while the rest stood in confusion. A second passes before a familiar silhouette bursts from the open window, armed with a musket and followed by two armed soldiers. Within seconds of shots being fired, the room is obliterated of all Peretan life, and only contains the five of us and a dozen deteriorating bodies. The figures stand above our huddled bodies, as if they were gods coming to save us all. Grey had finally come back. " 'Bout time, Grey, had me sweating there for a second there." John says, relieved. " Y' know, a thank's would mean plenty more right now." Grey replies, still cocky as always. " It'd mean plenty more if Trent was alive too, but-" I reply, being cut off. " Aww, vermit's gone too? Ugh... gimme a sec..." Grey mourns, quickly slamming open the bedroom door, before shutting it closed behind him. Fifteen seconds and a few dozen screams later, he travels back into the room, with silence finally filling the house. None have ever killed that fast, especially in a real fighting situation. " Oh, this perdy thing, yeah, modified musket, outfitted with quadruple the firing speed due to revolving chain shell canisters. Very sweet, if I don't say so myself." Grey replies to our awe. " So- why are ya' here for us? That letter kinda sealed our fate, ya know." I question. " Who'd ya think send that letter? The Neuro Titan Military? You know, for a name like titan, you'd think they'd be on top of everything. Anyhow, no, we did." Grey replies, almost confused by my stupidity. " Listen Charlie. We're the Pyro "tribe" of sorts. You know how this Neuro nation fell to the Peretans? Right about now, '''every '''other nation has fallen. Staying together now is our only option, and with our smaller numbers, we need professionals to deal in the protection..." One of the soldiers trails off. " Which is where we come in, I assume." John butts in. " Yep, oh, and this one, yeah, he's Tyler. Only the four of us left, John." Grey explains. " OH, Tyler! It's been so long, my god, we thought you went on without us." John exclaims, excited. I ask, " One question, what happened to Jaller? Did he-" " Protected his family until they were overrun, yeah." Grey sighed. " Grey, sir, we're burning daylight, better head back to camp before they send reinforcements." Tyler recommends, beginning to head out of the window, with everyone silently following. No, this isn't a story about heroes. Never have we fought valiantly against five thousand men, and won single-handedly and unharmed. We're all still the selfious and bruting humans we used to be, but this isn't about the heroes, it's about the survivors. We are the survivors that are ready to fight... and die... another day.